We Set This House On Fire Forgetting

Wherever We Go We Do Harm, Forgiving Ourselves As Wheels Do Cement For Wearing Each Other Out. We Set This House On Fire, Forgetting That We Live Within. (from "to A Meadowlark," For M.l. Smoker)

When We Die We Are Only Stories In The Minds Of Others, I Thought

Dad Said I Would Always Be "high Minded And Low Waged" From Reading Too Much Ralph Waldo Emerson. Maybe He Was Right.

Fate Has Never Ladled Out Hardship Very Evenly, And This Frequently Trips Our Often Infantile Sense Of Justice.

Birthdays Are Ghost Bounty Hunters That Track You Down To Ask, "que Pasa, Baby?